


Final Words

by GradyNumbers



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GradyNumbers/pseuds/GradyNumbers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The head of the Fargo mob has come to notice the relationship between Mr. Numbers and Mr. Wrench. Disgusted, he decides it is necessary to eliminate the two hitmen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Words

**Author's Note:**

> My first piece of fanfiction of any kind so I'm open to suggestions and thoughts~

The night was a bitter one and its biting, frigid wind seemed to sweep every last bit of sound away into the desolate shadows like a vacuum. The land below the dark sky was vast and void of life, besides a group of men trekking further into the abandoned territory, two other men in their grasps’ being dragged ruthlessly through the crisp, dry earth. The two men clawed at the ground with great desperation and struggled to get away with every last scrap of energy they had left. And although their bodies were almost completely broken a fire still burned inside them, fueling them to fight and survive; a fire that told them to endure, to escape, and to, above all, protect the other.  
Finally the men stopped, one stepping forward with quick glances at the captives, trying to collect his thoughts. “Mr. Numbers and Mr. Wrench. These are the guys right?”  
Another man rolled his eyes in response. “Of course they are you fucking imbecile!”  
“Well I just don’t want to get in trouble with the boss-“  
“The boss will be here any minute now to confirm your suspicions if you’re so desperate. But I think you can trust us. After all we are coworkers of these guys. Bless you’re new, accountant heart.” He patted the first man on the back with a smile before looking over and seeing that their hostages had made their way closer to one another, practically scrambling in the dust to reach the other. With a shout the rest of the men pulled them apart and laughed as they immediately tried again to make it into the other’s arms. “How cute.”  
Headlights streaked across the barren land and the group of hitmen looked back to see a black car park far off in the distance, a portly figure stepping out, face illuminated for a brief moment as he lit his cigar. He slowly made his way towards them.  
“The boss is here. We can get to work now.”  
Up until that moment, Numbers and Wrench had been ignoring the words being passed between the rest of the group. But as the men began to close in on Wrench their attention suddenly shifted. Wrench glared with absolute fury at every attacker as they drew closer around him, his nostrils flaring and lips curling into a raging snarl. His great shoulders bounced quicker and quicker as his breathing became more rapid and uneven, heart drumming mercilessly against his chest with such force that he could feel every beat along every muscle. Much to his scorn he began to tremble.  
When the men took stride towards his partner, Numbers began to stutter, spit, and writhe. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t fucking touch him. Don’t you dare touch him!” He made an effort to climb to his feet, but his knees buckled as one of the hitmen returned to him and forced him back into the dirt. He lay on the ground shivering and shame flowed hot with the blood that seeped through his chapped lips. His world was tilted and his outer vision beat with the rhythm of his pulse, but he could still clearly see Wrench, the only one person he cared about in the world. All they ever wanted to do was keep each other safe and now in this moment it seems that they had both failed.  
The hitmen were in close range now and just as a firm hand gripped the edge of Wrench’s shoulder, he lurched forward with extraordinary power, punching and kicking in every direction, harsh growls erupting through his gritted teeth. Seeing this display, Numbers attempted to collect himself and propped his weight upon unstable arms, his heart stuck in his swollen throat. But unfortunately Wrench’s already weakened condition did not match up well against that of his able bodied captors and he was eventually overpowered. Knocked back to his knees, the hitmen took his wrists and began to bind them, leaving him without a voice.  
Numbers panicked. “Don’t take him. Don’t. Just- just take me. Kill me!” And despite himself, his voice faltered as it escaped his throat and died in the crisp air. “Or…” The hitman still stationed above him dropped down to Numbers’ level and raised an eyebrow. “Just kill us both.”  
The man smiled. “Those are the orders. But we’ve been assigned to take care of your partner here. Someone has your head all to himself.” Numbers’ breaths became more erratic, but his eyebrows furrowed into a deep scowl and his dark eyes swirled like an oncoming storm, boiling over with such hatred that no light escaped them.  
Just then the glimmer of a serrated blade shown in one of the hitmen’s hands and Numbers’ black eyes went wide with terror. He shouted out in desperation, knowing that his cries would be of no use. He tried to push forward and the hitman sent him down again with ease, but he did not stop. He struggled and thrashed and fought with all his strength, continuing to release hoarse yells and screams.  
Wrench finally ripped his gaze away from his attackers and looked to his partner. He saw Numbers’ hysteria and followed his lips as they gently formed his real name over and over again. Numbers met Wrench’s bright eyes and instantly remembered every tender moment that they had ever shared together. He felt every gentle caress, every strong embrace, and every passionate kiss just as Wrench’s lips began to take shape, but not a word leaked out before the jagged knife was plunged deep into his partner’s back. Wrench’s breath was violently forced out of him and the air escaped Numbers as well. But as the blade continuously pierced skin and muscle Numbers would not be silenced and he leapt up once more, tearing up the dusty earth around him as he struggled against his captor with all his might, frantically howling and crying for his partner whose dying eyes never left his. He was furiously thrown down repeatedly, but not once did he stop crawling towards Wrench and not once did his hands stop signing I love you. The life faded from Wrench’s eyes as a smile attempted to play itself along his bloody lips and finally he lay still.  
Numbers let loose one last agonizing shout, his throat now mangled and raw, before falling motionless himself. His body only shook with each intake of breath, the freezing air cutting deep inside his grisly chest with stinging claws. His blood pumped with incredible rage, hatred, and ferocity, his quivering hands clenching into tight fists as his body flushed with profound and blistering torridity. He knew his fate and now he was more than happy to meet it.  
Heavy footfalls inched towards him, cracking the already splintered ground as they crept closer, but Numbers did not raise his head. He waited for the distinguished leather shoes to come into sight and as they stood still and proper in front of him he spluttered a great mouthful of blood and saliva onto their crisp, shining exterior, spitting all over this bullshit business that he had dedicated his entire life to. Slowly he lifted his gaze up to the man standing before him. The head of the Fargo mob, his boss, and his own father. And his father met the dark hollows of his eyes boldly, almost enthusiastically, and with a huff of laughter.  
Numbers began to stagger to his feet. All the hitmen rushed to stop him only to be halted by the gently raised hand of their boss. With great effort, Numbers clambered to his feet, balanced on trembling knees, and rose till he was eye to eye with his father, who smiled and blew a foul cloud of acrid smoke into his bleeding face, but he did not falter as the cold gun was pressed against his forehead. Instead of letting himself be consumed by fear, he flashed his own trademark smile even as blood oozed between his teeth and dripped down his chin. His hands moved quickly to sign something and he chuckled. So he would fall with the language of the one person he had ever loved. And the shot was swallowed by the vacuum of the night.


End file.
